


Not about You

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair get a chance to spend the day in the shoes of the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not about You

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Banshee, for giving me permission to use your 'Jim and Blair switch bodies' idea to write my own story. And to my beta, lost, for venturing with me into a new fandom even though it aint his cup 'o tea.

## Not about You

by Lily

Author's disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.

* * *

"I know it's here somewhere, if you could just hold on for a minute." 

Blair knelt on the floor, sorting through some charts and graphs, looking for the one he'd printed out earlier that day. He'd begged and cajoled Jim into doing a few tests, and now he couldn't even find the right materials. 

As he waited for his roommate to find whatever the hell it was he was looking for, Jim paged through Blair's notebook, shaking his head. Most of what he read almost made him want to snicker, mostly from the complete seriousness with which Blair documented every inane detail. Things that he, Jim, had just mentioned to his partner in passing were dissected in lengthy reports. 

"Um...this isn't exactly right," he mumbled to Blair, stopping on a page that had caught his attention. 

"What?" Blair lifted his head from his search, totally focused on the Sentinel. 

"Well...this description, 'when subject dialed up... located the hidden radio, (Volume set at 2, located 4 blocks away) enhanced hearing... brought the music out over everything else, until he could identify the song, the instruments used...outside sounds faded out until he turned them down to normal volume.( I have yet to determine what 'normal volume' is for subject.)'" 

Blair frowned, snatching the notebook from Jim's hand. "What's not right about that?" 

"Well, it's not like that. When I have my hearing turned up like that, I can pick out certain sounds, yeah, but everything else doesn't just fade away...believe me, I wish that it did. It's kind of like everything's louder than everything else, but I can still hear things individually." 

Blair sighed, nodding. "Okay, thanks." He knew that later he'd probably be beside himself with excitement, thrilled that Jim was taking the time to explain things for a change, instead of leaving him to guess. 

But not right now. 

Right now, it was just another reminder of something that he had wrong because he would never know what it was like to be a Sentinel, and that perhaps he was fooling himself in thinking that he could write about something that he knew nothing of. No wonder his notes were incomplete or inaccurate. 

"Thanks, Jim," he forced himself to say again, but when he moved to get up, a gentle grip on his forearm kept him from rising. 

"Most of it is right, Blair," Jim encouraged, his voice soft and somewhat uncomfortable. "I can't even imagine how you could've known some of it, because I sure as hell didn't tell you. At least, not in those words." 

"Really?" 

Jim paused. Maybe he'd underestimated the weight of his opinion, in Blair's eyes. Because there, pushing out the hurt and frustration, was his Guide's trademark optimism, and a hint of pride. 

"Yes, really," he grumbled. "Geez, if you were only as good at fishing for fish as you are for compliments, we'd eat a lot better on vacation." 

"It's just..." Blair chewed his lip thoughtfully, ignoring his friend's teasing. "Sometimes, Jim, I really wish I could just know what it is that you're seeing or hearing." He couldn't meet Jim's eyes, and added hastily, "I mean, it's not like I want to be the Sentinel or anything, I just want..." he trailed off, shrugging. 

"To know." Jim finished for him, sympathetically, and then he realized. Blair was hurt, frustrated, and he had no idea how long this had been going on. He looked over at Sandburg, his heart beating faster with the knowledge that he could give Blair what he wanted, he could do this for the person who did so much for him. 

"Yeah," Blair agreed gratefully, surprise written on his face when he finally met Jim's eyes. Normally by now Jim would be smacking him on the shoulder, moving on, away from the talk, which, God forbid, might lead to something personal. But Jim wasn't even moving. Instead, sitting there with his elbow resting on one knee, the other leg stretched out amidst the mess of papers, he looked as though he were actually trying to think of what to say. 

"Is this what that tantrum the other day was about? When you were pestering me to tell you what I saw in the alley and I wouldn't tell you?" he asked, realizing that this wasn't a new thing for his partner, but something he experienced daily. At any given stakeout, there was Blair, tugging at his sleeve, "What is it, Jim? What are they saying? Jim?" 

"It wasn't a tantrum!" Blair defended, frowning. The truth was something that Jim usually stayed away from, especially private truths like this, with the potential to hurt, but now he was uncomfortably close. He silently studied his partner, making Blair squirm. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah, Sandburg, c'mere." Jim had moved into action now, clearing an area on the floor, shoving papers roughly out of the way. 

"Hey-" 

"Quiet. Just come here," Jim told him, and Blair scooted closer, into the paperless spot that Jim had created. His larger partner was sitting cross-legged, so he followed his example and tucked his legs underneath him, allowing himself to be tugged even closer until their knees were touching as they faced one another. The flutter of nervousness that passed through his belly was overshadowed completely by his growing excitement, which was making it hard to sit still. 

This was Jim here, initiating something. And not some trip to the Home Depot, or a day out at the lake. This was something... Blair smiled, as he realized what made this different. This was something intimate, something tangible. Jim was going to teach him something, of that he was sure, and even if it wasn't the thing that he secretly wished for but would never admit, it was still something, and it was from Jim. 

And then he wasn't so sure, for a second, that it wasn't his secret wish being fulfilled, because Jim reached out both hands, palms up, fingers slightly curled, in a gesture that couldn't be mistaken. Blair's hands instinctively fit themselves into Jim's, eyes closing when he felt the strong fingers close around him. 

"You can see what I see," Jim was saying, after sitting silently for a few minutes. Blair would be so surprised, but would he be angry that Jim hadn't done this sooner? He wouldn't even be doing it now if he felt that he had any choice in the matter. Finally, though, this would be something he could do for Blair, and it would be worth it no matter how much talking he'd be forced to suffer through later as his partner went over and over and over the details. 

"You can hear what I hear. You're my Shaman, and by that title you have the right. Hold on, wait. We can see together." 

Blair couldn't deny the heat, the spark, where his hands were joined with his Sentinel's. It increased, and he squeezed Jim's hands in need, though need of what he didn't know. He had so many questions. 

He didn't ask them yet, though, because there was something building inside him, and in Jim. He could feel it, exciting but frightening because he was supposed to be in charge, wasn't he? The Guide was supposed to know what was going on, because if he didn't, then what would happen? 

"Jim, have you done this before?" he murmured under his breath, careful not to break whatever it was that had begun to flow between them. It seemed to be getting...louder, although he couldn't really figure out what the sound was, or where it was coming from. 

"Mmm-Hmm," was the quiet reply. That, and the gentle stroking of Jim's fingers, which had strayed up to the underside of Blair's wrist. So soft, this flesh, so warm. And so many the times he'd wanted to touch it...and more. 

Dizzy with exhilaration, something like a whimper caught in Blair's throat. He knew now what he was hearing, loud, steady and thrilling. It was Jim's heart, or possibly his own. Hell, who knew....who cared? And Jim's caresses, soft and rhythmic on his wrist...God, he thought he'd been touched before, but it was obvious now that he'd never been touched at all, if this was what it felt like to really have someone else's hand on him. Blair kept his eyes closed, not daring to try sight, but it didn't matter because he couldn't concentrate on anything but the small waves of pleasure radiating out from the spot where Jim's fingers repeatedly swept over his skin. 

He tried to follow the advice that he, himself, had given Jim a million times.: Focus on another sense. He chose hearing, and heard the sounds of an entire city, roaring, shouting, until suddenly, saving him from the agony, the sound of Jim's breathing, steady in and out, the heavy whoosh of air, his lifeline in this foreign country. Country? Hell, this was a new universe, and if he weren't so damn scared, he'd want to stay here forever. 

Jim wanted to stay here forever. Why hadn't he offered this to his partner before today? Having Sandburg like this, holding him, showing him, being him, was unlike anything that had happened when he had shared his gift with Incacha. 

With Incacha, it had been "Hmm. Very interesting, Enquerie, I thank you for this insight. It is indeed an honor." But with Blair it was different. Blair was here holding on tightly, panting and murmuring words of awe and gratitude, and to Jim, it was the most exciting thing he'd ever seen. 

And that's where he went wrong, right there, with his fingers on Blair's pulse, sliding, touching, knowing how it felt from both sides. It felt, it felt....it felt... 

"J-Jim-..." Blair's teeth chattered, despite his efforts to remain calm. There'd been a shift in the experience, it was becoming too much. He needed that lifeline back. But his lifeline remained silent. <Oh shit,> Blair thought, panicking. <Nice time to zone, big guy.>

"Come on, man," he coaxed, but Jim remained frozen, and the sound blared and Jim's fingers scraped painfully across his skin now, and he was falling, falling, until it was blessedly dark. 

Blair came to first, struggling to sit up, ears ringing. "Ohh," he groaned, rubbing his hands on his face. 

He froze, then brought his hand back to his head, fumbling about for his hair, which simply wasn't there. <I can not believe that someone actually cut my hair off while I was out cold.> he thought groggily. Criminals had been known to leave some freaky-ass calling cards, but this was ridiculous. 

And then he saw movement from the shape on the floor next to him, Jim, and turned to find out what had happened. Any lectures he'd been formulating in his head about zoning quickly fell to pieces when he got his first good look at his friend. 

"Oh, shit," was all he could manage. 

His own eyes looked back at him curiously. "Blair?" said Blair's own voice, coming from his lips, which were on his face, connected to his long curly hair, which apparently hadn't been the victim of some cut-and-run crime spree. The only problem was, he was sitting here, and his body was over there, and if that was his body... 

He scrambled to his feet clumsily, finding the body he was occupying to be much larger and bulkier than his own, and made a beeline for the bathroom. The mirror didn't lie, and Jim's face stared back at him, gaping with shock, until he realized that it was him, Blair, causing Jim's mouth to hang open. He promptly closed it, hoping for a less panicked look. 

And then, there was his own body, standing next to him, eyes transfixed on the mirror as well. 

"Jim?" he asked tentatively. 

"Yeah," croaked out his own voice, sounding even more freaked out than he was. Okay, so he had to be the calm one. They could figure this out together. 

"Oh my God, Jim! This is amazing!" He couldn't help it, because behind the reality of how completely screwed they were was this incredible phenomenon of being in the body of his partner and best friend, and, oh yeah, the Sentinel. 

Funny how Jim could give him that perfect scathing 'Are you for real, Sandburg?' glare, even under these circumstances. 

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Jim snapped, pushing back at the long curls in frustration. "It wasn't supposed to happen. I did it before, with Incacha, and it never happened. Oh...I'm so short." He added, staring at himself in the mirror. 

Blair had been thinking the same thing, only <Damn, I'm freakin' huge, here.> but he pretended to be offended, scowling for Jim's benefit, "You zoned, man! The other times you probably didn't zone. Something like this takes not a small degree of concentration, and you were AWOL at your own little-whatever this was." He looked at Jim. "What was this, by the way?" he asked. 

"You were supposed to experience my senses. Did you?" 

"For like two seconds, yeah, but then you-" 

"-zoned, I know. Shit." 

They were quiet a few moments longer, spending the time looking at one another, and then back to their own reflections. Finally, Blair broke the silence. 

"Well." 

"Yeah," Jim looked gratefully up at Blair, hoping that his partner had worked it all out in his mind. Then they could fix this mess. 

"Okay." Blair said awkwardly, possessing none of the answers that they needed. "I think I'm kind of getting used to this. I don't think I'm going to freak out, that is. Are you gonna freak out?" 

Jim fingered his curls, wondering how Blair had never picked up that habit with them so accessible, so soft. "No. I'm okay for now. You know, so long as we can change things back, and soon." His face said otherwise. 

Definitely freaking out. 

"I'll have to see what I can come up with," Blair admitted. "But until then, maybe we should call it a night." 

"Bed?" Jim asked, sounding somewhat panicked. "But it's only...oh," he trailed off as he checked his watch, which announced plainly in indiglo that it was well after midnight. 

"We were out for a while." 

Blair had already moved on, though, his mind sorting through all the implications and possibilities of the situation, and by the time Jim finally tore his eyes away from his reflection and left the bathroom, Blair was way ahead of him. 

Jim reached the top of the stairs, and stopped short when he saw Blair already undressing for bed. "What are you doing?" 

Blair dropped the black t-shirt onto the floor, and began to unbuckle his belt. He always loved when Jim wore this particular belt, with the strips of leather braided together, but he'd never thought he'd be pulling the belt out the loops, and unfastening the button of Jim's good jeans, the tight ones, the ones he hardly ever wore. 

"Stop!" Jim said urgently, stepping toward his partner. This was all going too fast. They needed some answers, to reach some kind of understanding. He needed Blair, the real Blair, in the right body, with the right voice, to say the right things and make it all better. Blair could always chase away the confusion, but not like this. 

Blair gave him a puzzled look, his hand freezing on the zipper. "What's wrong?" he asked, still a bit disoriented at having a conversation with 'himself.' 

What's wrong? Jim thought wildly, then faltered. Good question. 

"You- you can't..." he pointed at Blair, and at the half unfastened pants hanging open. 

Blair looked down, trying not to marvel at the wide, sculpted chest. "You're kidding!" he exclaimed, grinning a bit. 

"Sandburg," Jim warned, not feeling so sure anymore. "You can't just go running around... That's my..." he stopped, shaking his head in despair. "Damn it!" 

"Jim." Blair tried to sound reassuring, but he couldn't keep the incredulous note from his voice. "You expect me to sleep fully clothed? What about when I need to take a shower? Besides...it isn't anything I haven't seen before." He waggled his eyebrows, and Jim felt himself blushing. Damn. In his own body, he'd never blushed. 

There wasn't really anything to say to that argument. He would have to accept the fact that for now, his body was under the care of Blair Sandburg, for Blair to do with as he wished. He didn't understand why that thought sent a thrill through his belly, and quickly changed the subject. "What about my bed?" he growled. 

"This is my bedroom, Sandburg, no matter what I happen to have the unfortunate luck of looking like." 

Blair's face fell, and Jim was certain that the pitiful expression he was projecting had never before been on the face of Jim Ellison. Of course, Blair Sandburg had never had control over his expressions before, and something told him that until they remedied this disaster, people were going to be seeing Jim Ellison doing a whole lot of things that he'd never done before. 

"But my bed is so small," Blair argued, "and this-I-I'm so big." 

"Okay, all right," Jim agreed, starting toward the stairs, 

"Set the alarm for six. We've got a lot to talk about, starting with some ground rules." 

Once Blair heard the door to his room downstairs close, he slid slowly between the sheets, shivering in delight. Jim's bed. He lay on his back, arms at his sides, lying still and straight on the mattress. Staring at the ceiling, he struggled a bit with his conscience. 

Go to sleep, Blair. 

But I haven't even done anything yet 

It's wrong. Jim would be pissed. 

I won't touch, I'll just look. 

And so he threw off the blankets, in one swift movement, still staring up at the ceiling. The anticipation was delicious, electric, better than anything he'd felt in a long time, and he reveled in it until finally, he couldn't wait any longer. He slowly dragged his gaze downward. 

Blair exhaled loudly as he took in the long, well muscled legs, the defined chest, stomach, and arms. All bare, because as soon as Jim had disappeared down the stairs, he'd kicked off the boxers, rationalizing that how was he supposed to know how Jim slept, and for all he knew, Jim slept in the buff, and he was just doing his part to preserve a little normalcy around here. He didn't have to look to know that his cock <Jim's cock> was already rock-hard. <I'm not doing anything. Just looking> he told himself, the whole while knowing, anticipating, loving that he couldn't stop here. A few more moments passed, and the throbbing between his legs finally had his full attention. 

His hand, which had been lying still this whole time, slid across his stomach, palm down, lower and lower. <This is probably so against those ground rules that Jim was talking about. This is probably ground rule number one.> he thought guiltily, but his body, <Jim's body>, was trembling with need by now, and he watched with lusty fascination as the massive chest rose and fell in shallow pants. So many times he'd wanted to reach over and run his hands over these same, secret spots, but the thought of Jim's reaction forced him to keep these desires to himself. 

Sometimes it hurt, wanting so badly, needing so desperately, but tonight there was no pain, only the joy of discovery and the ecstasy of release. Shivering, he pulled the comforter over his body. 

He groaned out loud when his hand began to move rhythmically beneath the heavy blanket. So familiar, this, but so unfamiliar. He couldn't ever remember his own flesh being this hot, this hard, this responsive to a single touch. The soft sounds coming from his throat didn't matter tonight; Jim wouldn't hear him without his senses. 

Slowly, ignoring his body's urgency, he spread his legs a little more, exploring, one hand creeping down to cup his balls, gently squeezing. The fingers of his other hand traced the hard length, circling the tip, resisting the inclination to grab hold and bring himself off with a few strokes. 

That's not how Jim would do it. 

At least, not in his fantasies, it wasn't. Those nights in his own bed, hands moving underneath his own faded covers, sweaty and almost shaking with the effort it took to be silent, he would imagine Jim slowly pleasuring the body that he now caressed. <This is Jim> he thought for the millionth time, this was the same body that had earlier today shot a perfect score at the firing range. These same hands...he shuddered, biting his lip and stilling his hand until he was sure he wasn't going to lose it. 

"Blair?" The questioning voice brought him back to reality with a painful jolt. 

"Uh...yeah?" he asked shakily, trying to ignore the protesting ache coming from between his legs. 

Jim emerged from the stairs, his wide blue eyes appearing to shine in the pale moonlight. The wild curls were even more unruly tonight after having tossed and turned in bed for so long. Though it was his room, he moved hesitantly, shyly almost, and Blair was moved by the rare vulnerability. 

"I..." Jim approached the side of the bed. "I was wondering about my senses. All the dials are normal?" 

"They're offline, actually," Blair replied, maneuvering himself into a sitting position. "It's probably a good thing." 

Jim didn't answer for a long time, instead he looked around the room as though he'd never seen it before. It was probably very different, unsettling, Blair realized, for him to be without his amplified senses all of a sudden. Limiting. Blair could see his partner's frustration and fear, and suddenly, he felt as though he would do anything to make him feel better, to take all that away, to see a smile. 

"I like this body," he blurted, then cringed at the asinine, and possibly inappropriate comment. 

But Jim didn't care, didn't notice the awkwardness of the spontaneous comment, and Blair got his smile as Jim said, "Well, don't like it too, much, buddy, because I want it back." 

"Yeah, okay," he mumbled, embarrassed. He picked at the bedspread, unable to meet his partner's eyes, his own eyes. He knew all too well how good those eyes were at seeing. Maybe not with Sentinel power, but they saw other things. They noticed things, and right now there were some things he seriously didn't want Jim to notice. 

"Good night, Blair." Jim said, turning away. "See you in the morning." 

Blair stumbled down the stairs sleepily, greeted by the smell of coffee brewing and the sight of himself sitting at the table. No, he corrected, Jim sitting at the table. He shook his head. Weird. Pulling out a chair, he sat and studied his partner for a while. Jim was reading the paper and eating a- whoa, hold on a second. 

"Jim!" he said, pushing down the newspaper with his hand. 

"Yeah?" His mouth was full of breakfast, and he took a big swig of coffee to wash it down. 

"What are you eating?" Blair demanded. 

"Pop Tart." 

"Um...I think that now might be a good time to talk about those ground rules that you were so eager to get laid down," Blair grumbled, smoothing out the wrinkled newspaper with one hand. "That's my body, man. Do you know how hyper you'll get with all that sugar...and caffeine?" 

"Good. Rules." Jim nodded. This should be good. The kid thought there should be rules. Rules about Pop Tarts, the important stuff. 

"Yeah." Blair replied with satisfaction. "For starters...you are so not going out in public with your hair like that." 

"What? I washed it and took an extra twenty minutes to dry it. Isn't that what you do?" he asked, insulted. It had been a pain in the ass and he'd done the best he could, but to tell the truth, when he'd checked out his reflection, he'd been appalled by how Blair's hair, normally very nice to look at, had turned out. 

"That's great, Jim," Blair soothed,. "I appreciate it, I do. But, you forgot a few steps along the way, and that's why you now look like you stuck your finger in a light socket." 

"Humph. Original.," Jim grunted. 

"I call 'em like I see 'em." Blair shrugged, smiling. "Come to the bathroom with me." 

Jim followed Blair to the bathroom, doing as he was told and standing still while Blair squeezed some creamy stuff onto his hand and then massaged it through the long mane of hair. 

He closed his eyes as Sandburg ran a wide toothed comb through his hair, smoothing out the frizz, softening the curls even more. This was too weird. He actually liked this, and he wondered for the umpteenth time since last night if Sandurg's cock ever took a break to relax, because it had been raring to go the entire time he'd been in his Guide's body. Table legs, indeed. He hadn't known the half of it! 

When they were done, and back in the kitchen, Jim stood by the counter. "We need to go over some serious things, Chief." 

Blair nodded and waited, flexing his new muscles. It was something he'd discovered last night, and couldn't stop doing. 

"Like...at work today, you're going to have to be me." 

Blair tried to ignore the charge that those words gave him. He was disgusted with himself. Jim was seriously unhappy here, and they were in some major trouble, but all he could do was get off on some kinky role-playing fantasy. 

"I know, no problem." 

Jim frowned. He knew Sandburg, and there was no way that it could be this easy. "I mean," he tried again. "You have to act like me. You have to act right." 

"I always act right!" Blair protested, putting away some of the clean dishes from last night. He hit his head on an open cabinet, unused to his new height. "Ow, ow, ow!" 

"Hey, watch the head," he warned, but rose from his seat to inspect his partner for damage. "You're all right." 

He kept a hand on Blair's scalp, rubbing absently as he continued. "I'll have to stay with you today." 

"No, I don't think so," Blair interrupted. "I have a morning class, you're gonna have to cover for me." 

"Oh no, Sandburg, forget it. There is no way you're getting me up in front of your students to make a fool of myself." 

<I'm making a goddamn fool of myself.> Jim thought furiously. How had Sandburg talked him into this? And what made his partner think that he could even pull this off? 

"Relax, Jim, it's all in my notes. Just read from the notes and let the kids discuss what you've said." Sandburg had told him, and that was the end of it, because since when had he really been able to refuse his Guide something that he wanted this badly? 

So here he was, uncomfortable in these clothes, in this body, in this room. He put the notebook on the podium and opened it. The words were blurry, damn it, so he fished around in his pocket until he found Blair's glasses, and put them on. Much better. 

Jim cleared his throat. 

"Okay class, today, we're going to talk about-" he skimmed down until he found the title of the lesson, "the mating rituals of-" his face flamed crimson, his voice caught, fists clenched. There was no way in hell that he could talk about this in front of one person, much less a whole room full of people. 

He stared, frozen, at the students for a moment. A few snickers broke out and a murmur went through the crowd. He looked at the door, which beckoned to him, offering a quick getaway from this torture. 

No, he owed it to Sandburg to do this. And he could do this, because he'd done far more painful things than this, he thought as his eyes skimmed over the page before him, catching glimpses of words that had never, and he had thought would never, come out of his mouth. He'd killed men, he'd survived in the jungle. 

I can do this. 

He took a deep breath, smiled the best Sandburg smile that he could, and began. 

Blair sat at Jim's desk, drumming his fingers on the flat surface. He hadn't gotten much work done yet because it was too fun to sit here just being Jim. So, that meant that he had a few issues, all right some serious issues. Big deal. So his appetite for contact with his Sentinel had grown to somewhat disturbing proportions. It wasn't as though he, Blair, was responsible for this mishap. That didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it. 

And enjoying it he was, though he knew that Jim was probably going to strangle him when he got to the station. He winced as he remembered the subject matter of his lecture, then grinned. 

"What's so amusing, Ellison?" Simon's loud, booming voice startled Blair. 

"Uh..." He lost his confidence for a moment, wondering how in the world he'd ever thought he could pull off this charade. "Just- thinking, sir. About...Blair." He cringed. Why did he say that? Thinking about Blair? Jim would never say something like that. Thinking about Blair. Smooth. 

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What'd the kid do now?" He sat down on the edge of Jim's desk with a smirk of anticipation. 

Blair blinked. Oh. Right. Now he was supposed to say something degrading about himself. This just got better and better. "Well," he thought quickly, digging around in his vault of obfuscations. "This girl calls last night for Sandburg, and I answer, and tell him that it's Linda on the phone. Only, he misunderstands me, because you know how he's bopping around doing a million other things, and he thinks I say "Glenda" on the phone. So he starts talking to her about what a hot time they had last night, and so on and so forth." 

He grinned the kind of grin that he thought Jim would, were he talking trash about his partner, which apparently he did with some regularity, judging by the way Simon was nodding and chuckling. "Needless to say, this girl figures out pretty quickly that he thinks she's someone else, someone obviously getting a lot more action than she is." 

He forced himself to laugh along with Simon, but now he was wondering what Jim really said about him when he wasn't around. 

When Jim trudged up to Major Crimes, he was greeted with the sight of Blair standing in the doorway, talking with a woman who worked down in records. And talking wasn't all they were doing, because this woman was all over Sandburg, standing closer than should be legal, and every once in a while finding a reason to put her hands on his arms or chest. His arms and chest, damn it. Blair didn't seem to notice, either, being a bit preoccupied with ogling the woman's ample cleavage that was revealed by her indecently low-cut blouse. 

He scowled as he approached the two of them. "Bl-Jim, can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked, ignoring the woman. 

She took the hint and left, her heels clacking against the floor as she walked. They watched her until she was out of sight. 

"What the hell was that, Sandburg?" he asked. "You are not going to be dating while you're me, you got that?" 

"I know, I know," Blair replied sheepishly. "It's just...man, do you know how many women have hit on me today? It's unbelievable! I don't get why you never go out, because this," he gestured down, "is a babe magnet. Hey, how'd the class go?" he asked, remembering. 

Jim looked at his partner. "I ought to kick your ass, you know," he growled. 

"Yeah, I know." Blair sighed. "I owe you, man." 

"Big time." 

He flexed his muscles. 

Jim followed Blair over to his desk, beginning to get a sense of what it felt to be Blair. Did he feel like a tagalong, and if so, did he mind? Simon came over to give them the run-down on a case they were working on, and he noticed that Simon didn't look at him once, talking directly to Blair, who, of course, Simon thought was Jim. 

Finally, Simon did look at him. 

"Sandburg," he snapped. "What's with you today? You've had your hands in your hair since I started talking to you, and it's getting on my nerves. If this is getting to be some kind of nervous habit, maybe you should just get a haircut and be done with it." 

Jim froze, not having realized that, sure enough, one of his hands had strayed into the long curls, and was stroking the silky strands as he listened to the Captain. It wasn't the first time today that he'd caught himself doing this very thing. 

He yanked his hand away, humiliated. "Sorry sir," he mumbled, unable to look at Blair. Who knew what he would think. Ground rules, indeed. He bet that Sandburg hadn't thought he'd need to decree that Jim would not be comforting himself with the feel of Blair's hair, hands, or anything else that he had easy access to now that he was up close and personal. 

Blair laughed with Simon, another phony laugh of obligation. He recognized his friend's expression, after all, it was his own face. Jim was feeling embarrassed and uncertain, he could tell, and he hated that his friend had to feel that way just because he'd been reduced to going through the day as Blair. Reduced to a geeky little observer. 

"Hey," he reached out and brushed his own hand against Jim's hair, an imitation of how things usually would go. At least, he meant to, but Jim looked up at the last minute, turning slightly, and Blair ended up kind of rubbing his partner's cheek. When Jim's lips parted in surprise, eyes wide, the apology for the mistake died on his lips. Was he sorry? And if so, what for? Today wasn't a day for apologies. 

"Uh-wanna go get something to eat?" he asked, unable, unwilling to answer the questions that he saw in Jim's eyes. 

No," Jim replied flatly, shutting down. "I want to go home. Get Simon to give us the rest of the day off. I'll be waiting in the truck." 

When they got back to the loft, Jim poured himself a glass of scotch and sat on the couch. Blair didn't say anything about it only being two in the afternoon, and he didn't say anything about how maybe a person should ask before they went and got someone else's body all filled with poison. 

Blair stood between Jim and the TV, marveling once again at his height. 

"You can, um, it's okay," he said, as though they were in the middle of a conversation. 

"Can what?" Jim made a face as he took a large swallow. 

"Touch. The hair," Blair replied, rocking back and forth nervously from one foot to the other. It was something that the real Jim would never do. "You...you can touch it. Any of it, it's yours." It felt good to say something so honest for a change, even if he couldn't be honest about the true meaning of his words. 

"Mine?" Jim leaned forward, setting his now empty glass down. 

"Well, for now, yours, yeah," Blair clarified, wondering when the last time was that he really had told the truth. "Temporarily." 

They both felt the weight of the unspoken things, but they remained unspoken. Finally, Jim flopped down into a lying position on the couch and said, "Okay. Thanks." And that was that. 

Blair disappeared upstairs for a few minutes. When he came back, he was dressed in a tank top and shorts, and carrying Jim's gym bag. 

"What are you doing?" 

Blair couldn't hide his enthusiasm. "Going to the gym, man! You think I'm gonna pass up this chance of a lifetime? To go to the gym like this, Jim Ellison, the reason that other guys even work out at all." 

"What about fixing this?" Jim protested in dismay. "Getting us back to normal! Some of us don't consider this a science experiment, you know, Sandburg." 

"Come on, man. We'll do it tonight. I already think I know what to do, and it's easy." Blair pleaded with his eyes. 

"Oh God," Jim leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes in defeat. "If I ever look that pitiful, just kill me, all right?" he sighed. "Go on, then, have your fun. Don't forget to stretch first, though, Chief. I don't want to be all sore tomorrow." 

"Okay, no problem." Blair grabbed his stuff and was gone a few minutes later. 

Jim had just begun to relax, thinking that maybe he could forget about this whole mess for a while, when there was a knock. 

Opening the door, he saw a young man about Blair's age. The man smiled widely, happy to see Blair. "You're home!" he said, obviously surprised to see Blair in his apartment so early in the afternoon, "I was just going to drop this off, but...it's good to see you." 

"So," he said familiarly, stepping into the loft without an invitation. "How are you?" He was holding a book, one that Jim recognized as Blair's. 

Jim looked over the young man, who wasn't much bigger than Blair. He was dressed in jeans, a navy blue t-shirt, which fit snugly over his lightly muscled torso, and faded canvas tennis shoes which were dirty. His deep brown eyes were studying Jim curiously. 

"Blair?" 

"Oh, sorry, sorry." Jim gestured to the couch. "I was just watching some TV," he explained, deciding that he needed to sit. The kid scuffled along behind him. Adam, Jim decided. He was pretty sure that his name was Adam, a friend whom Blair had mentioned a couple of times. 

Adam sat next to him on the couch, and slid the book onto the coffee table. "Thanks a lot. You were right, it helps if you read the whole series." He smiled again, watching Jim with an unwavering eye, as though he expected Jim to say something exceptionally profound any second now. 

Jim swallowed. Teaching the class, pretending to be Blair this morning, had been a piece of cake compared to this one-on-one interaction. Who was he fooling? No one else could ever be Blair! And the way that Adam was looking at him, like... 

"Is your roommate gone for a while?" he asked shyly, smoothing a hand over his dark hair, which smelled faintly of green apples, Jim could tell, even without his senses. 

"Uh, yeah, he went to the gym," Jim replied, grateful for easy questions. This he could do. He wished that he'd taken into account Blair's much smaller size before downing so much alcohol. He'd meant to have just enough to relax, but actually had quite a buzz going. 

Then, as he was thinking these thoughts, and deciding what to do, he found that Adam's hand was on his own leg, <Blair's leg> and was alternating between squeezing gently and making a slow progression up his thigh. What the? His gaze whipped up to the man's face, intending to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, but was stopped by the feel of warm, soft lips on his own. Hungry lips, and the look that Adam had been giving him earlier had been one of hunger. He recognized it now. 

He turned his head away from the kiss, away from this stranger who for some reason wanted to kiss Blair. 

"Stop." He sputtered, pushing away the hands, the man. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" 

Adam put a hand on Jim's chest, breathlessly saying, "Kissing you. And I want you to suck me, here, on the couch. And then afterwards, you can do me in your bed-" his wish list was interrupted when Jim leaped off the sofa. 

He stood, speechless, looking down at Adam in shock. Why would he want those things with Sandburg? Why did he think that it was okay to touch Blair like that, to kiss Blair, unless... 

"Blair, come on, what is it?" the other man asked, hurt by his rejection. "Is it Ellison?" 

Jim froze at the sound of his own name. He felt paralyzed, unable to move a muscle or form a thought. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He had to get out of there, out of this body, which, apparently, had already been leading a double life even before this whole switching fiasco. 

Strong, gentle arms came around him, and Adam gathered up all of Blair's beautiful hair, holding it away from his neck. Jim shivered at the sensation of lips on his neck, of a tongue softly licking, teeth biting and nipping. "Come on, Blair," he murmured, his hand drifting down to cup Jim's ass. "Just let yourself go, for a change. Just this once, think of me while we're together. Not him. Me." 

Jim's head spun dizzily, it was too much input all at once. The effects of the scotch, coupled with the hot, eager mouth on his, and the stunning knowledge that Blair did this, that this is what went on when he was away from the loft, was all too much. "Blair..." the other man murmured huskily. "Mmm, Blair." 

Stumbling away from Adam's embrace, he forced himself to speak. "I can't, not-not today. I-I think you'd better go," he choked out painfully, wanting to say so much more, to voice his outrage, his disgust, and to find out what this handsome young man had meant when he'd said that he wanted Blair to think of him for a change. 

"You'd better go," he repeated, squeezing his eyes shut, yet still able to hear the ragged breathing of the other man. When he finally opened them, he was alone. 

"Whew!" Blair yelled when he entered the loft. "That was amaazing!" Sweaty, tired and happy, he went straight to the bathroom to shower, completely ignoring his roommate sitting in their living room. Jim was working on his third cup of coffee since Adam had left. He stared in the direction of the closed bathroom door. It'd serve Sandburg right if he never slept again. 

When Blair emerged from his shower, damp and practically glowing, Jim was on his fourth cup. He watched Blair strut around happily in his partner's freshly washed body. He tried to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, but when Blair came down the stairs, dressed in a pair of shorts and no shirt, he found that ignoring this would be impossible. 

Blair opened the refrigerator, checking out the contents as he hummed. 

"So, Adam came by," Jim commented, watching Blair's reaction. 

Without a shirt, the muscles bunching up with tension were plain to see, and slowly, as though it were something terribly fragile, the refrigerator door was closed. When Blair turned around, it was with fear in his eyes. He didn't say anything, didn't need to. What was left to say? 

"Yeah," Jim continued, stirring some creamer into his coffee. "And you know, he seemed to think that I would want to suck his cock, Sandburg." He slammed the spoon down, and it clattered across the table. "Can you tell me where he would get an idea like that?" 

Blair felt the blood drain from his face, his eyes prickling with tears. "I-" he stopped. Nothing to say, nothing would help. Now Jim knew, and his reaction cut Blair deeply. It was the pain of his own lies, and a betrayal by someone he had thought was his friend. 

"You said you knew how to fix this. You'd better pray that it works," he said to Blair, his words laced with bitterness. He didn't know what he was doing. This wasn't how he'd planned the conversation. What was he so damn angry about, anyhow? Blair hadn't done anything wrong, yet here it was, settled deep in his belly, a burning anger that wouldn't be calmed. 

Blair nodded, and they sat together on the floor, in the position that they'd been in when this all began. Blair's hands were clammy this time, and when Jim took them in his own, he knew that his own cruelty was the reason. 

Blair sneaked a peek at Jim, who was sitting straight and still as he waited. The older man was angry, of that he was certain. <Of course he is, you idiot. Why wouldn't he be after finding out the way that he did?> "Let's get started." Jim growled, and Blair complied without further discussion. 

This time when he came to, Blair just looked over at Jim to see if it had worked. Thank God, it was good old Jim, back in the right body. He grinned happily at his partner, before he remembered, and it was like being drenched with a bucket of cold water. His smile faded when he caught sight of Jim's stony expression. 

"I think you'd better go," was what finally came from his Sentinel, and Blair nodded, dragging himself off the floor slowly. His misery weighed a ton, and it was an effort to walk the few steps to his room, before kicking the door closed behind him. 

He didn't have to question what Jim had meant when he'd said for Blair to go, he knew better now. A year ago, hell, even a month ago, Blair would've been packing his bags after what had gone down today, but he didn't, instead lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, in wait. 

While waiting, he thought of the conversation they'd had a few weeks ago, after an argument that had spiraled out of control, provoking Blair to the point of tearing through his room, packing as much as he could in his small suitcase while Jim helplessly stood by, watching. 

Blair closed his eyes, remembering how he'd felt that night, when Jim had looked straight into his eyes, completely focused, fervently telling his Guide that no matter what, no matter what happened, Blair would never leave his home, never move out. 

And Blair now knew that it was true. Nothing could make him leave. 

"I don't care what happens, I don't care if we're worst enemies, Sandburg," he'd warned, his hands digging into Blair's upper arms, digging even harder to emphasize his point. "Never," and Blair had understood what he'd meant with those words, that though he'd been bruising, almost, he'd meant "Please, don't leave me," and "I need you here." 

What had happened today wouldn't change Jim's feelings on the matter, of that he was certain. The Sentinel might hate who Blair was, and might not even be able to stand the sight of him, but the fact remained that he needed his Guide, and wouldn't force him to go. 

Jim was at his desk, holding a pen in his hand, but that didn't mean that he was working. Not that he didn't need to get some work done, because he'd never had such a pile in the inbox, never been so behind. 

If Blair would just come into the station... 

He rested his elbows on his desk, his head in his hands. <Just call him, already!> he told himself, but it was too hard. In the weeks since they'd gotten their bodies back, he hadn't had the courage to talk to Blair, and his partner was just practicing what he considered a little self-preservation, avoiding Jim whenever possible. Which was basically twenty-four hours a day. 

Not more than a few words had been exchanged in the few times that they'd been forced to see one another. Blair avoided all eye contact, while Jim sneaked sidelong glances at his partner, weighing the merits of many different things he could say to Blair, and saying none of them. 

But he'd wanted to, and one morning, when he'd gotten up early and found Blair sitting in the morning sun, he'd come oh so close. His face was peaceful and still a bit sleepy, until he saw Jim, the peace immediately replaced by regret and anxiety. He hadn't wasted any time gathering up his things, leaving a warm spot on the couch. Jim sat in that spot for a long time after Blair was gone, imagining that he hadn't been so chicken, imagining that he'd said "Blair, wait. I'm sorry," or that he hadn't said anything at all, but knelt on the floor beside his Guide, which was what he really wanted to do anyhow, and just looked up at him, and Blair, who always seemed to know things, would know what he was saying, and then... 

He tried to pretend that the next part of his fantasy was where Blair smiled and looked kind of relieved and they both apologized and went to the station. But the scene that played itself over and over in his overactive imagination was different, and much closer to his heart's desire. He knelt beside his Guide, that part was still the same, but his arms went around Blair's waist, and when he pressed his face into his partner's shirt, all the while telling him how very sorry he was, Blair brought his strong, Guide-hands down around him and they stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity. 

Sitting there on the couch, imagining the scent, the feel of Blair in his arms, Jim had zoned. 

Shaking off the memory, Jim picked up his phone again, determined to take the first step today. He dialed quickly, but when Blair answered, he froze, uncertainty crushing his short-lived confidence. 

"Hello..." Blair repeated, annoyed. 

"It's me," Jim said, wishing that he'd written some things down. Something good, something that would let Sandburg know that he was trying, that he wasn't all bad. 

A sharp intake of breath, then silence. 

"And, I just wanted..." What did he want? Why hadn't he thought of this beforehand? If only he weren't the one who'd screwed everything up, because now it was all on him, and if it was on Blair, then Blair would have no problem finding all the words to make it right again. 

"I don't know. I'm sorry," he finally admitted. 

Another long silence, and Jim could almost see Blair there, trying to read into what little he was giving his Guide to go on. 

"Nothing to be sorry about, man." He was being cautious, after already having been hurt, Jim realized. He'd have to be the one. 

"No, there is," he insisted, watching Simon and Brown laughing it up from across the bullpen. It felt weird to be doing something this important and having no one even notice. "Listen, Sandburg...Blair. I don't want to do this on the phone. Are you coming home tonight?" 

He waited, holding his breath, trying to figure out what sounds he was hearing. What was Blair thinking? God, if only his Sentinel abilities extended far enough to know what his Guide was feeling. 

"If you-if you want me to," was Blair's hoarse reply. Jim wanted to see him. This was something new, possibly something unpleasant. The most likely scenario was that Jim would politely abjure his plea for Blair to stay with him no matter what they were up against. "Sorry, Sandburg, but when I said that, I just didn't know, about..." He would wave his hand vaguely, instead of just saying what it was that had changed his mind. They both knew, anyhow. 

"I do." 

"Okay, then...see you tonight." 

"See you." 

Blair chewed his food slowly. It had no taste, and was hard to swallow with his throat closed up so tightly from nervousness. Reading Jim's mood was impossible without looking at him, and he'd grown used to avoiding eye contact with his roommate in the past weeks. But he could sure feel Jim Ellison's eyes on him. They had been there the entire meal, too. 

He put his napkin on the table, and still looking down at his plate, asked, in the uncharacteristically subdued voice that he'd been using a lot lately, "Can you please just say whatever it is you wanted to say?" 

Jim nodded, but his attention was scattered. Something was trying to get his attention, something in the back of his mind. It was right there, and he reached for it, and it was a scent. It was very faint, but his brain was telling him that it was important, so he tried, dialing up scent as high as it would go. And then he had it, the scent of Green Apples. 

"You were with Adam today," he stated, startled. 

Blair tilted his head to the side, regarding Jim with interest. "That's incredible, man. I barely saw him, just brushed past him in the hall. You can smell him on me, right? That's how you knew?" He couldn't help getting excited, this was his life, he absolutely lived for this stuff, and pushed aside the conversation he'd wanted to have for a moment. 

"Yeah," Jim admitted. "I've noticed that since...you know, since we were switched, things are clearer than ever. Heightened beyond what they even were before." He scooted his chair away from the table as he spoke, feeling lucky that Sandburg was even talking to him. Maybe he would have his Guide, yet. 

"And I think that it has something to do with you, or the fact that you were me, and I was you," he added, not certain at all of this theory, but Sandburg would be so damn thrilled that he'd bothered thinking about this that it didn't matter if he was wrong. 

"You think so?" His eyes were glowing, the corners of his mouth turned up for a change, his face transformed by hope and interest. 

"And...I was thinking that maybe you'd want to run some tests or something," Jim tried his best for nonchalance, shrugging, "I don't have anything else to do tonight." 

And that was it, his apology, the best apology he'd ever given Sandburg, better than any he'd given anyone in his life, and it was a gift that Blair recognized and accepted with gratitude. Blair sat back, stunned. "I...okay," he agreed, walking to his room like someone sleepwalking and returning with a notebook and a pencil. 

He clumsily got his notes together, his eyes on Jim almost the whole time. Then he was ready to begin. 

"Okay, first of all, when did you notice the difference? Was it right away, when we got back to normal, or was it gradual? None of the above?" He pulled out his glasses, and put them on, scribbling frantically in his notebook. 

"I'm not mad for the reason that you think," was what Jim found himself saying. He was glad to have his Guide back but somehow it wasn't enough anymore. He had to keep on until he felt true healing, and saw the same in his partner. 

"Huh?" Blair's brow furrowed in confusion, then, "Oh." 

"I was so angry, Blair, at you," he confessed, rubbing the back of his neck roughly, trying to soothe the overly tense muscles. "But it wasn't why you think, it wasn't because of that kid, it wasn't about you. It was about me." 

And Blair laughed loudly, a harsh, joyless sound that was simply a reflex to what he was hearing. "Of course it was about you," he said, without bitterness. It was just the truth; when was it not about Jim? 

"Chief, I've had these..." He clenched his jaw, and forced himself through this revelation, because it would be worth it when Blair touched him again, and when he saw that Blair was smiling, amused, knowing how hard this was, it gave him the strength that he didn't have on his own. " Feelings." He held his breath, weak with relief when the world didn't end, when no hidden audience jeered and laughed, and best of all, Blair was pleased. Yes, Jim Ellison had feelings, and he was actually talking about them, voluntarily, because it was the only way to regain the love, the trust, of his Guide. 

"These...feelings. I hated them. I was afraid, so I spent so much time, Chief, so much time trying to get rid of them. I swear some days I couldn't even think of anything else, and it was killing me." It was easier now, and the words poured out, every word for Blair, but somehow it was he who was gleaning the reward, being cleansed. 

"But then I found out that you had these same feelings, and it was just so easy for you, and it wasn't fair. I didn't know that it was okay, Blair, and I hated you for not telling me that it was okay, because if you would've told me..." He stopped, looking to Blair, turning it all over to him. 

"If I would've told you it was okay, then what, Jim?" he asked, and Jim realized that Blair had slid his chair over close, and that Blair had his hand held tightly in his own. 

Jim looked down at their hands, and thought again that it still wasn't enough. But it was more than he deserved, and he would accept that for now. 

"Then I would've believed you," he whispered, dizzy with an overwhelming gratitude for beautiful, strong Blair, who always knew what he was saying, even when he was too cowardly to say what he meant. 

"And if you would've believed me, what would you have done?" Blair asked smoothly, pushing Jim even after his brave confession, challenging him to be an equal here, because he was a good Guide, but the Sentinel had to learn some things on his own. His hand now gently stroked Jim's arm, a precautionary measure, because a zone right now might mean that they'd never have this conversation again. 

He studied Blair, trying to see what it was that he wanted, what the right answer was, but the younger man gave no clues. He simply waited, but when Jim lifted a trembling hand, moving it slowly toward Blair's face, he gave a slight nod of approval. 

"Yes," he sighed when the Sentinel's fingers slid across his cheek, and Jim, thrilled by the subtle approval, grew bolder, brushing his fingers across the full lips. 

This was it, this was the more that he'd been longing for, of that Jim was certain. But instead of easing the sweet ache, it only intensified, and he found himself drawing back, terrified, because he couldn't do this. This is what he needed Blair for. 

"Don't stop, Jim," Blair coaxed, in awe of the walls that his normally closed-in friend was breaking down tonight. But his partner dropped his head, shaking it in response. 

"I'm sorry, I can't-" he moaned, "Please, Blair." 

Blair brought Jim's fingers back to his mouth, this time keeping them there long enough to bring each one into his mouth, tasting and sucking until Jim's hands were in his hair, pulling him closer until their lips were almost touching, Jim could feel, hear, and taste Blair's words as he murmured with passion, "Yes, you can." 

And Jim finally believed, he believed in everything as he fell into the long, sweet, slow kiss. 

* * *

End

 


End file.
